


Tea and Biscuits

by toyhto



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, M/M, Mature rating for the language and just to be sure, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 20:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13725393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: Alfie meets Tommy Shelby for the first time.





	Tea and Biscuits

**Author's Note:**

> I missed Tommy Shelby, so here we go. This is pretty much their first meeting from season 2 with a kind of fix-it scene included, but then again, we didn't get to see how that meeting ended. Also, I'm trying out Alfie's POV this time.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://toyhto.tumblr.com)!

Tommy Shelby. A clever man, they said. A dangerous man, they said. Be careful, Alfie, they said, not to his face, of course. But in between the lines, that’s what they meant.  
  
Fucking idiots, all of them, because the man sitting in Alfie’s office is so damn stupid. And little. And stupid. To come here just like that, alone, to offer a deal and suppose Alfie’s just going to forget about the fact that Tommy Shelby fucking shot Billy Kimber, just to _assume_ that Alfie’s going to gladly accept the offer and make a deal and let the man walk out of here alive, is just… it’s outrageous, that’s what is. Bloody outrageous. And then the man has the nerve to start fucking _bleeding_ from his goddamn nose when Alfie points a gun at him. It’s just _rude._ And so utterly stupid. It must be a bloody miracle that Tommy fucking Shelby has managed to stay alive so far.   
  
“Mr. Solomons,” the man says now, hands crossed on Alfie’s table, his voice all patient and understanding. He’s wiped the blood off his nose alright but just the thought of it, the thought of this tiny man with blood on his face, staring at Alfie as if he _expected_ to get a gun pointed at his face, as if he perfectly knew what Alfie was going to bloody do before Alfie decided it himself, it’s just…   
  
It’s just that he’s always had a thing for this sort. Little but bold, or fucking stupid, which is surely another way to put it. Desperate, because that’s what Tommy Shelby certainly is, otherwise he weren’t sitting in Alfie’s office, negotiating for a goddamn deal. But Alfie won’t fall for that, not this time, only it’s been a while since he’s met anyone, _anyone_ at all who’s managed to catch his attention for more than maybe a minute. And now it’s been, what, three minutes, or five already? And he’s talking something about cabins and barrels, what the bloody hell is he _saying?_ Tommy’s nose isn’t bleeding anymore, damn right, but Alfie’s still going on and on about sending half of the bloody idiot to Timbuktu or so it seems. He must fucking concentrate and stop this nonsense now.   
  
“Sorry,” he says, and Tommy looks slightly surprised. He’s trying to hide it alright, though. But maybe he’s more tired than he gives out. He looks like someone’s kicked the shit out of him lately, he really does, and now he looks relieved too, when Alfie says, far too nicely, that he can tell about his suggestion now. Alfie will listen. He will fucking listen because Tommy Shelby is right, he’s losing the war to Sabini and it’s fucking frustrating and what is the worst thing that can happen, anyway, Tommy Shelby fucking shooting him? He’d kind of like to see the man try. But he’s not going to think about that now, hell no, because Tommy’s telling him about this whole grand plan. It’s all good, it really is, only slightly boring compared to the blood running from Tommy’s noise a few minutes earlier.   
  
“Ollie,” he says when Tommy pauses to breathe in. The bloody idiot looks like he might actually pass out. “ _Ollie_ , I can handle this. Get out, mate. Thank you very much.”   
  
Ollie looks confused but goes, good lad. Tommy looks confused as well, confused but not scared. Well, the man stared at Alfie’s fucking gun a few minutes ago. It’s not like he’s going to be easy to get frightened. And that’s not Alfie’s thing anyway, not really. It’s not why he likes that sort in men he fucks. It’s taken some time to admit that to himself but he’s got it now, hasn’t he? He likes them because they’re small and he’s big and if he wanted, he could keep them from harm. Only perhaps not Tommy Shelby, because the man looks like he’d fucking get himself in trouble anywhere he goes, doesn’t he?   
  
“Now,” he says and takes the bottle of whiskey out of the drawer, again. Tommy doesn’t even blink. “Would you like some whiskey, Mr. Shelby? Because we’re going to make a deal.” Tommy opens his mouth, but then again, maybe it’s not wise to let the man speak. “And honestly, you look like hell. You look like you should be in hospital and not fucking negotiating deals with men twice your size, you bloody idiot.”   
  
“Twice my size?” the fucking idiot says in a hoarse voice. Did they strangle him, too? Or is he trying to be charming? Because it’s fucking working alright, even if there’s no way he could _know_ how Alfie Solomons likes his men. There are no rumors about that. Alfie would know if there were.   
  
“Tommy,” he says and takes a deep breath. The name feels quite nice in his mouth. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Can I call you Tommy, Mr. Shelby? Now that we’re in business. Great. So, are you dying? Is that why’re you taking bloody stupid risks, like coming here all alone to see me?”   
  
“I’m not dying.”   
  
“Your nose is bleeding again.”   
  
Tommy wipes his nose with the back of his hand. A hint of blood remains. Fucking hell. There’s no way he’s doing that on purpose, no way.   
  
“You should do something about that nose. See a doctor or something.”   
  
“I had to come to London. To meet you.”   
  
Fuck. This is bad. The bastard is staring at him, patiently, still not scared at all, not even concerned now that Alfie’s pretty much promised to make a deal with him and not kill him, which is kind of included. Maybe they should get to know each other a little. Yeah, maybe that’d be a good idea. Just to give Tommy Shelby an idea why it’d be good to be at least slightly concerned when sitting in Alfie Solomons’ office. “You’ve heard rumors about me, no?”   
  
“Not much,” Tommy says. His eyes are getting a bit hazy. Alfie should probably take the man somewhere else. It’s not going to do any good to either of them if Tommy Shelby passes out in Alfie’s fucking bakery.   
  
“Not much?” Okay, maybe it’d be best to go straight to the point. “Never heard a rumor that I like pretty men?”   
  
“Pretty men?” Tommy says, slightly surprised, maybe, maybe just in pain and bored.   
  
“Like yourself.”   
  
“Like myself?” Tommy says, shifts in his chair and winces. Definitely in pain. But not necessarily very bored.   
  
“Hurts, doesn’t it? The beating you took, I mean.”   
  
Tommy opens his mouth and then closes it again.   
  
“Now that we’re in business,” Alfie says, pours whiskey to the glass and passes it to Tommy but the man doesn’t fucking take it, “and now that you’re bleeding onto my desk, I suppose it’d be just fair to tell you something about myself. Because I’m a fucking sodomite, that’s what I am. And this thing you’re doing, a tiny man in a nice suit, bleeding nose, all that fucking staring. I won’t say that it doesn’t turn me on. And what you’re doing now, you’re staring at me again, for fuck’s sake. Are you asking me to fuck you?”   
  
“No,” Tommy says, still staring at him.   
  
“No?”   
  
“No,” and the man takes a cigarette and lights it, puts it in between his lips, almost rubbing it against his lower lip first, “I don’t think I’d enjoy it very much at the moment. Maybe in two weeks.”   
  
Okay. _Okay._ Fucking hell. “What?”   
  
“I’m supposed to be in hospital bed right now. Just give me two weeks to recover and we’ll see about it.”   
  
“We’ll see about it.”   
  
“I thought you were interested.”   
  
“No,” Alfie says and then bits his lip. Fuck. Maybe he’s underestimated Tommy Shelby somehow. That’s unbelievable but not completely impossible. “Yeah. I mean, yeah. I’m fucking interested alright, mate. I don’t just go around telling men they’re pretty if I don’t mean it. It doesn’t usually end well for the business, you know. Men don’t like to be told they’re pretty.”   
  
“I don’t mind.”   
  
“You don’t mind.”   
  
“I don’t mind,” Tommy repeats again. “But, Mr. Solomons, if you go bragging about how you fucked me, I’m going to shoot you. Just the way I shot Billy Kimber.”   
  
“You fucked him, too?”   
  
Tommy glares at him. Fuck, this is good. This is so damn good it’s getting difficult to remember that the man told him to wait for two weeks.   
  
“I know, I know,” he says and pushes the glass of whiskey closer to Tommy on the desk, “I wouldn’t have, either. Billy Kimber, not my type. Not at all. Not like you. Take the whiskey, lad. Your head must hurt like hell.”   
  
Tommy takes the glass, slowly, fucking slowly, as if Alfie might poison him or something else utterly stupid. Or maybe Tommy’s just really tired. And Alfie’s got to remember that the man is probably in serious pain, yeah, he’s got to remember that.   
  
“Good,” he says when Tommy takes a sip of his whiskey. “You look pale. When did you last eat something?”   
  
Tommy places the glass back on the table and then blinks at him. “What?”   
  
“Food. You’ve got to have heard of it.”   
  
This is bloody good. Tommy Shelby is watching him as if the man hasn’t got a clue what they’re talking about and it’s making him… well, it’s making him feel oddly emotional but fuck that. He’s only getting old, that’s what this is about, he’s getting soft in his old age and that’s why he really needs the bloody idiot to eat something. He doesn’t yell at Ollie very often these days, either. Same thing.   
  
“Mr. Solomons,” Tommy says in a hoarse voice, and fuck, it’s not the same thing. It’s not. “What the hell are we talking about?”   
  
“Listen,” he says. He’s got to concentrate now. No talking about cabins and barrels, no pulling a gun, just good old... what the hell is he trying to do anyway? In two weeks, Tommy said. In fucking two weeks they’re going to see if he can fuck Tommy Shelby. Maybe the man is bluffing. That’d explain it. But Tommy is watching him with a blunt stare as if daring him to ask. So he clears his throat. Alfie Solomons doesn’t fucking back away when a pretty man suggests fucking. “Maybe in two weeks, you said.”   
  
Tommy lights another cigarette. When the fuck did the man put away the first, anyway?   
  
“I want to keep you alive ‘till that. And you got to eat.”   
  
“If our deal is done,” Tommy says, holding a bloody cigarette in between his fingers and tracing his lower lip with it, “I have things to do.”   
  
“Yeah, yeah. It’s done alright. The door isn’t locked.” He glances at it. “Or actually it is. But I’ll let you out if you insist.”   
  
Tommy stares at him, not fucking inching. Bloody hell that he likes this man.   
  
“But I have a flat in this block. Just around the corner. You could come there, let’s say for half an hour.”   
  
“For what?” Tommy asks. He doesn’t sound _interested_ , no, but also he hasn’t tried to leave yet. “If you come at me, I’m going to –“   
  
“No, no, no,” Alfie cuts in, because fuck no, he’s not going to do _that._ He pulled a gun at Tommy but that was for the business, alright. And he might do that in the bedroom too but only if Tommy asked. Nicely. “That’s not my sort of a thing. Not at _all._ ”   
  
“You just told me you like to fuck pretty men.”   
  
“I _do_ ,” he says. Maybe it’s because of his looks. Because he looks so damn strong and they all just assume that he’d use that to get a man to his bed. “When they’re begging for it.”   
  
Tommy’s watching him as if trying to decide something. He wants to remove that bloody cigarette and kiss Tommy fucking Shelby right now. Damn he’s got it bad this time.   
  
“Literally begging,” he says, just to be certain that Tommy understands him, “with words. In my bed. In my house, where they came voluntarily.”   
  
“Sounds like a good deal,” Tommy says, almost in a whisper. Fuck the man’s voice is hoarse. They must’ve done something to his throat, Sabini’s men. Or otherwise he’s playing with Alfie and fuck that’s…   
  
That’s _so_ good.   
  
“So I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” Alfie says, because this is getting out of hand and he’s got to start talking now or else he’s just going to stare at Tommy’s fucking pretty blue eyes. “In two weeks, we’re going to meet again. In my house. Alone. I’m going to give you tea and then after you’ve undressed, I’m going to take you to my goddamn bed and fuck you the way you like. Just tell me. I can do it gently and I can do it rough. Whatever you prefer.”   
  
“I’m not sure,” Tommy says, and Alfie bites his lip because it wasn’t a fucking _question_ , it was just him talking Tommy over, he didn’t expect that Tommy would _answer_. “It’s been a long time.”   
  
“We’ll begin with gentle, then,” he says, and bloody hell, his voice is getting hoarse too. “And for now, we’ll – your nose is fucking bleeding _again._ ”   
  
“Sorry.”   
  
“It’s not – just come to my place for half an hour.”   
  
“For what?” Tommy asks, again, but this time it sounds like he means it.   
  
Alfie grunts. He could suggest a hand job. A blow job, even. That’s not what he usually does, but Tommy Shelby seems just the kind of a man for whom he’d make an exception. But there’s a fair chance that Tommy might fucking pass out on him or start bleeding again and that’d be just embarrassing. He needs the man to be fully conscious and, you know, healthy enough to fucking enjoy what he’s going to do. So maybe in two weeks.   
  
“Tea and biscuits,” he says, “I’ve got tea and biscuits.”   
  
“Fine,” Tommy says and stands up. “For half an hour.”


End file.
